


Everything Vanilla

by LadySilviana



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Gay Character, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Magic, Milkshakes, New York, Romantic Fluff, Vanilla, Vanilla Kink, laughing because vanilla kink is apparently a legit tag, queliot, really that's a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySilviana/pseuds/LadySilviana
Summary: Quentin loves everything vanilla. Well, except for one thing...





	Everything Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> The fluff mood hasn't passed so I'm just rolling with it wherever it goes. Feeling like I need more pointless and random Q/E relationship stuff. Also, I am totally convinced that Q really is an obsessive vanilla fan.

 

“Let me guess, it’s going to be vanilla again?” Eliot was asking.

“Yup,” Quentin answered, grinning, and tightened his hold around Eliot’s waist. The taller man gave a dramatic sigh, bending down to plant a kiss on Quentin’s forehead before disentangling from the embrace.

“ _Fine_ ,” he conceded, “But I will have you know that your lack of imagination is a disgrace to the decadent invention that is the milkshake.”

“Vanilla is _classic_ ,” Quentin argued. “And anyway at least I always know what I want, whereas you just spent the last 20 minutes trying to choose between Wild Cherry, Salted Caramel and Red Velvet.”

It was true. Over the past several months with Quentin, Eliot had come to recognize vanilla as an essential staple in the younger man’s life. With Quentin, it was vanilla flavoured everything. Vanilla ice-cream and milkshakes. Vanilla pudding. Vanilla cake. Vanilla flavoured coffee creamer. The vanilla obsession also branched out into other territories like scented fabric softener and hand soap. On one occasion when Eliot had dared him to go buy something at a sex store, Quentin returned with a bottle of edible massage oil. Unsurprisingly, and to Eliot’s great amusement, it was vanilla flavoured.

Basically, if it had “vanilla” written on the description tag, Eliot could bet his life that Quentin wouldn’t pass it up. He himself, on the other hand, liked to experiment with a wide variety of flavours. Which did make life difficult at times when there were several promising options available.

Like now.

Finally deciding on Salted Caramel, Eliot paid for their milkshakes and the two of them exited the Harlem Shake burger joint unto West 124th Street. They had spent a long morning in New York, returning checked out books to libraries all over the city. The week before, Quentin’s dad had called to inform him that notices and fines for overdue material kept arriving at the house. It would seem that the excitement of discovering Brakebills had led Quentin to forget about a large number of books checked out from New York’s many libraries. Eliot had told him he may as well keep them now, but Quentin seemed adamant about returning the borrowed material. Besides, it was an excuse for a day trip.

At some point, exhausted from hours of walking and portaling around the city, Eliot decided that he wanted a milkshake from Harlem which brought them to their current location.

“Now where too?” Eliot asked, grabbing hold of Quentin’s hand as they exited the restaurant. They began to walk casually down the sidewalk until Eliot noted an accommodating alley that provided enough cover to open a portal.

“Greenwich,” Quentin said. “The Jefferson Market Library.”

“Oh, gods. How did you ever bring yourself to travel to all these different libraries without magic?” Eliot asked, passing his shake to Quentin and stretching his fingers out before making the necessary gestures to open a portal.

  
“I needed source material for my thesis project,” Quentin shrugged, sipping his vanilla shake slowly through a straw.

The portal took them straight into the small garden adjacent to the Jefferson Market Library, a beautiful Gothic Victorian building in red brick that had at one point been a courthouse and in much later years turned into a library. The building sported a lovely clock tower that had an observatory with a gorgeous view of Greenwich Village. They came out behind some trees off of the main path, unobserved besides for several surprised squirrels. It was early spring time in the city, so the garden had yet to come into its lush greenery. The branches overhead were void of blossoms, adorned only with the last remnants of quickly melting ice. Around them, birds chirped in loud anticipation of warmer days.

“How’s your shake?” Quentin asked.

“It’s good,” Eliot acknowledged, twirling the creamy substance around in his mouth thoughtfully. “But I feel like I should have gone for Wild Cherry.”

“See that’s the problem with these crazy flavours,” Quentin reflected, finishing his shake and throwing the empty cup into a garbage bin. “You choose one and then you wonder if something else might have been better. With vanilla you always know what you are going to get. It’s satisfying and comforting at the same time.”

“It’s predictable is what it is,” Eliot retorted good naturally.

“I guess that makes me predictable then,” Quentin gave him an odd look Eliot couldn’t quite read.

“I guess it does.”

They went inside the historic building and returned the books. Quentin even paid the fines off, despite Eliot’s proposal that they should just drop the books off and go. After that, they had walked around the old library for a bit, enjoying the turn of the century architecture, and the hallways and rooms graced with stained glass and swooping arches. There was a lovely spiral staircase that wound around the inside of the building, leading up to the closed off clock tower, which was only open to the public during scheduled tours. At one point they had ended up on the staircase and Quentin looked around quickly, making sure no one was watching, before grabbing hold of Eliot’s arm and running up the stairs, jerking the older student along after him.

“Q, what in the fuck-”

“ _Shh!_ ” Quentin shushed him and pointed up the long stair case. Getting the hint, Eliot shut up and followed quickly and quietly. Eventually, the winding stairs had brought them past the observatory landing and up to a door leading into the clock tower room which housed the tolling bell inside it.

“Aren’t we not supposed to be here?” Eliot whispered, panting a little from the brisk run, his heart beginning to beat fast from exertion and excitement.

“Nope,” Quentin cast an incantation to unlock the door, smiling wickedly all the while. Once the lock clicked, Quentin grabbed Eliot by the lapels of his dark trench coat and shoved him roughly through the door and up against a wall. Eliot gasped at the hard impact of brick hitting his back and the sudden, forceful pressure of Quentin’s body against his. The tower room was eerily dark, as only select hints of sunshine found their way through small openings around the giant clock.

“You know we probably could have made a portal for this detour,” Eliot said, feeling his boyfriend’s wet mouth against the hallow of his throat.

“Mmmm, yes. But this way is more fun,” Hot breath covered his neck and Eliot’s eyes rolled back in his head, closing.

Then Quentin was reaching up and kissing him. His mouth tasted overwhelmingly like vanilla and it made Eliot’s knees buckle under him. Maybe he was wrong about vanilla after all because on Quentin’s tongue vanilla tasted like fucking heaven. Every new stroke made Eliot want to taste more vanilla. He craved vanilla. He _needed_ vanilla. His head spinning, Eliot found himself relating to Quentin’s obsession, for didn’t he know what it felt like to profusely and religiously desire the same thing over and over again? Quentin was his vanilla, addictive and endlessly satisfying.

Except that there was nothing vanilla about the mercilessly hard grip of Quentin’s fingers around his wrists. They dug into his skin, almost hard enough to bruise, restraining his arms and keeping him pinned against the hard wall. There was nothing vanilla about the deliciously painful bites on Eliot’s lips and neck either.

“That wasn’t so predictable was it?” Quentin whispered against him before stepping back and leaving Eliot slumped breathlessly against the brick wall behind him. Eliot’s hands were released and he felt a hard tug on his belt, which was sprung open roughly by deft fingers. He moaned as his pants began the slow slide down his hips.

“Not _everything_ I like is vanilla.”


End file.
